by Amy Jarecki
“Reading.” She scooted toward the door. “Or taking long walks in the countryside.”
“Both things I enjoy.”
“I find that surprising.”
“Why?”
“Reading? Please. What was the last book you read?”
“Frankenstein, second reading. Finished it on Sunday.”
“Well then, I stand corrected. We have two things in common: the enjoyment of long walks and fine novels.”
When she reached for the latch, Fletcher beat her to it. “Allow me to walk you to your door.”
“Absolutely not. You are supposed to still be at Lady Maxwell’s ball.”
“Ah, yes.” He drew his hand away. “Then please allow me to take you for a long stroll in the countryside tomorrow afternoon.”
“Tomorrow?” she asked as if trying to churn up an excuse not to go.
Fletcher pounded on the carriage wall. “Footman!” Then he took Georgiana’s fingers and kissed them. A fierce pulse beat beneath her kid leather glove. “I’ll not take no for an answer. Goodnight, my lady and sweet dreams.”
Chapter Twelve
SEATED AT HER WRITING desk, Georgiana handed four sealed missives to Roddy. “Please deliver these letters straightaway. But first, you must tell me to whom they are addressed.”
The boy examined them. “L-ord Hamilton, Mr. W-wen-t-worrrrth.” He glanced up. “Mr. Beaverton?”
“Yes, and the last?”
“Sir Guy. That one was easy.” He held up the letters. “Are these about the fire engine?”
“They are. Each of those gentlemen owns property which is at considerable risk should there be a fire.”
“Do you reckon they might want to finance your machine operations?”
“Either that or place an order for one.”
The lad slapped the missives on his thigh. “Who would have thought attending a fancy ball might help? I sure didn’t think it would work.”
“Well, one must never discount a new idea until one has tried it.” She stowed her wax wafers and seal in the drawer. “Anyway, they may all tell me to throw the pumper into the Thames.”
“Only ignorant dukes would say a thing like that. But I would never let you destroy your invention, my lady.”
“That’s because you’re a smart lad.” Standing, she gave his shoulder a pat. “Now off with you and let me know straightaway if there is a reply.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Sighing, Georgiana washed the ink off her fingers at the bowl and, while she dried her hands, she turned her attention to another matter. It was time to confront Mama about leaving her in the lurch last eve. How dare her own mother corner Evesham like that? Worse, Georgiana scarcely was able look herself in the mirror for the horror of her behavior. How could she have allowed herself to act so wantonly? And she hadn’t even imbibed in a libation. At least then she could claim a lack of judgement due to inebriation.
First, Eleanor had planted the seed about being a widow and bending the rules, and then Mama left without so much as a goodbye. Oh, how things changed when one removed herself from the ton for six years and returned a widow.
Except the meddling part. Mother has always been a champion meddler.
After descending the stairs, Georgiana stood at the parlor entry. Her father sat in his wingback chair reading the Gazette while Mother embroidered. Rasputin hopped to his feet, pattered over and shoved his nose into her palm.
“I see you’ve been working with the dog, Papa,” she said, moving inside. “He didn’t jump up, plant his paws on my shoulders, and slurp his tongue across my face.”
“He’s coming along.” The Baron of Derby glanced over the top of his paper. “Though I’d like nothing more than to do away with the remainder of the Season and take him back to Hardwick Hall.”
Georgiana gave Rasputin’s back a scratch. “I daresay, that would suit everyone.”
“Do not be ridiculous.” Mama looked up from her sewing. “We have two months before we must return to that drafty old castle.”
Papa frowned. “I never found it drafty.”
“Of late, the damp has grown unkind to my rheumatism.” Rubbing her knee, Mama smiled. “And how are you this morning, my dear?”
As Papa returned his attention to the news, Georgiana slid onto the settee beside her mother. “Shocked, dismayed, still in disbelief,” she whispered. “How could you have left the ball without saying a word?”
Sliding her needle up from the back of her embroidery, Mother projected the picture of calm. “You were dancing, of course. And Evesham gave me his word he would provide a proper escort.”
Georgiana collected a skein of silk and shook it. “Never in my life have you left me at the mercy of a single gentleman. Why now?”
“If you do not know why, then you are more ignorant than I ever thought possible.”
Groaning, she tossed the silk into the basket. One did not make a point with a coil of limp thread. “You ought to have sent our carriage back.”
“Yes, but then the duke wouldn’t have needed to protect you.” Mama smiled knowingly. “Mind you, men love to play the role of supreme protector of women.”
“A lot of protection he provided.” Huffing, Georgiana shifted her back against the cushions and crossed her arms. “The duke sent me home in his carriage—with a coachman and two footmen; but he stayed behind just to ensure I would not be the brunt of this morning’s scandal columns.”
“Well.” Mama sniffed as she tied off a knot. “I daresay you could use a bit of drama in your life.”
“Here, here,” Papa agreed from behind the Gazette.
Georgiana leaned forward and gaped. So now both her parents were conspiring against her? She wouldn’t put it past them both to create a bit of a scandal to force a hasty marriage.
“It’s not as if you’re an inexperienced young lady.” Mother sifted through the basket of silk. “You’re a widow.”
“And the lines of propriety are somewhat blurred for me?”
Choosing the yellow, Her Ladyship glanced up. “I wouldn’t go that far.”
“No, of course not. If anyone can speak in riddles, it is you, Mama.”
“That’s an understatement,” Papa’s deep voice resounded from his hidey-hole. At least he hadn’t completely gone over to Mother’s side.
“Perhaps when you have children, you’ll understand me better. But when it comes to seeing my daughter happy, I am capable of all manner of rule bending. And since you once were married, anything you may do is not as likely to reflect poorly on your parents. In addition, your brother remains happily in the country with his wife and my three grandchildren, so there was absolutely nothing to worry about.”
Except for my pride. “I see. It is reassuring to know the extent to which you’ve thought last night’s faux pas through.” Georgiana grabbed a pillow and squeezed it atop her midriff. “But why do you insist that I am unhappy?”
“You cannot fool your mother, dear. I remember a girl without a care who loved to climb trees, and paint, and ride her pony. She was smart and loving and filled Hardwick Hall with laughter. She possessed talent few could attain and everything and everyone she touched felt her joy.” Mother picked up her needle and used it as a much more effective pointer than the skein of thread. “After you were married, I watched you work your fingers to the bone, all the while I prayed for Daniel’s success. But he died...and left you with that hideous machine. Listen to me. It is an anvil around your neck and you will not find peace until you slip from under its noose.”
“Ugh!” Throwing out her hands, Georgiana had heard the lecture a dozen times. She pushed to her feet. “Let us focus on one thing at a time, and that is meddling in my affairs. The next time you decide to leave early, please do me the honor of letting me make up my own mind as to whether or not I will stay. Thank you.”
“Just remember,” Mother called after her. “It is as easy to fall in love with a wealthy man as a poor one.”
Geor
giana headed for the corridor. “I’m not looking to fall in love.”
“But do not discount it, dearest. You’re still quite young.”
“And furthermore,” Georgiana added, speaking over her shoulder. “I have nothing in common with the Duke of Evesham.”
“Hmm.” Mama situated a monocle over her eye. “But he has something in common with you.”
She planted her hand on her hip. “Which is?”
“He is infatuated with you.”
Georgiana turned away as her breath caught. She clutched her hands tight beneath her chin. “You couldn’t possibly know that.”
“I beg your pardon, my lady,” said Dobbs, looking directly at her, rather than the baroness. “The Duke of Evesham is waiting in the entry.”
“Truly?” asked Mother, sounding quite smug while the leaping lords returned to dancing in Georgiana’s stomach. “Why am I not surprised?”
SIMPLY FOLLOW DOBBS out to the entry and pretend as if nothing is amiss. If Evesham chooses to remember how I unabashedly threw myself at him, I will play the innocent and aloof widow and move on to a more appropriate topic.
Before stepping through the corridor, Georgiana took a deep breath. With luck, one of her letters would be successful and then she’d flee back to Thetford posthaste. There she’d forget about dukes and courting and kisses in dimly lit carriages in the middle of the night.
By the time Georgiana reached the entry, she’d nearly built a wall of brick around her resolve. But after taking one look at Evesham’s intense amber eyes, all the stones crumbled away.
“My lady.” He held out a bouquet of pink roses. “I see you are ready for our stroll.”
“Stroll?” she asked, taking the flowers while her entire body felt as if it had begun to levitate. Dash it, if she weren’t a grown woman, she might actually be smitten. She drew the roses to her nose and inhaled. “These are lovely, thank you.”
He winked. “They suit your coloring, my lady, reminiscent of last night’s stunning ensemble, I might add.”
By the heat spreading across her face, red might have been a better descriptor of her complexion. “A-are you certain you want to trouble?”
“I hear there is a fine orchestra playing at Vauxhall today. I thought it would be pleasant to stroll through the gardens and then enjoy a bite while we listen to the performance.”
Georgiana glanced toward the parlor. What else was there to do? She’d written her letters. Why not enjoy the day out of doors, doing something enjoyable? “That does sound diverting.” She craned her neck to peer out to the street. “Did you bring your phaeton, perchance?”
“I did.”
Thank God. Who knew what tricks her misbehaving heart might play if they were inside an enclosed carriage.
“Very well.” She bowed her head. “Allow me to arrange for these to be put into a vase and collect my things, and I’ll attend you shortly.”
Chapter Thirteen
FLETCHER SLIPPED HIS fingers into his waistcoat pocket. Between his fingers he rubbed the brass locket holding the lock of Lady Georgiana’s hair—a bit of her he intended to treasure forever. This being the height of summer, the gardens at Vauxhall wafted with heady fragrances of brilliant flowers. Her Ladyship bent forward and sampled the fragrance of jasmine blooming on a trellis. Such a delightful view, he happily stood and examined the heart-shaped curve of her bottom beneath unknown layers of fabric. She had a most pleasing figure. One he fully intended to come to know better...as she let him in.
Moving slowly with a woman was foreign but, oddly, he found moving slower invigorating—challenging like a game of chess with a woman who tempted him to the point of distraction, making his every move more difficult and thought-provoking.
Last night when she’d acted out so unabashedly, a voice in the back of his head had warned to stay in control. Under any other circumstance, Fletcher doubted he’d have acted the gentleman. The scoundrel lurking at his core would have surged to the surface and taken his plunder.
But Lady Georgiana was different from all the rest. She made him want to be respectable—or at least to be respected by her.
True, Fletcher could not deny his primal urge to have her. He wanted to keep her, to possess her. And that petrified him to his toes. Was that why only she managed to tame the lurking beast? Last night when she was dancing with Mr. Clarkson, Fletcher had yenned to take the man outside and thrash him just for putting his hand on Georgiana’s waist.
She plucked one of the small blooms and straightened while she twirled the flower between her fingertips. “You once told me you hadn’t always been a duke. What was your life like before?”
Not one for mulling over his morose past, he shrugged. “I believe you know my father legitimized me on his deathbed.”
The blossom continued to twirl as she passed it beneath her nose, her expression contemplative. “I’d heard. How did that make you feel?”
“Empty.” Fletcher had rarely expressed his feelings about that night one way or the other, but oddly, his throat didn’t tighten this time.
“Goodness, that does sound grave.” Together, they moved along the path. “Did you spend time with your father whilst you were growing up?”
“Nary a once.”
She glanced his way, her brow furrowing. “Did he tend to your maintenance?”
“I suppose he did.” Fletcher had no idea why he wanted to say more, but he couldn’t stop himself. “My mother lived in a cottage which was part of the duke’s estate. She was of Romany blood, though only half. We didn’t fit in with the Gypsies and we were outcast by the English. Mother took in mending and we kept a small herd of goats which provided a living. And when I was seven years of age the duke sent me to Eton.”
“So, he saw to your education.”
“He did—sent me on to Oxford as well.”
“At least he had enough of a conscience to see you well placed. What did you study at university?”
“Engineering. I had a particular interest in the works of James Watt.”
Georgiana drew a hand over her mouth and she gasped. “Steam power,” she whispered.
“Exactly.”
As she lowered her hand, a sad smile played on her lips. “Steam was Daniel’s passion as well.”
Fletcher bristled at the name of her deceased husband. “The inventor,” he mumbled.
“Yes...” She glanced away as her voice trailed off. “He wanted to invent a pumper powerful enough to replace a hand-operated fire pump. Men tire so easily.”
“But it’s impossible to harness enough pressure.”
“Not with Watt’s design,” she said as if she were well-versed on the subject.
“No.”
“Though his cycle speeds were exemplary for the time.” She tapped the flower against her chin. “If only he had realized the temperature differential on either side of the piston was too low.”
Fletcher stopped, his mouth agape. “Wait a moment. You studied Watt as well?”
She shrugged as if such a feat was nothing remarkable. “In great detail.”
“I’m duly impressed. In fact, you might be the only woman I’ve ever met with a firm grasp of steam power functionality.”
“Thank you—but I digress,” she said, continuing on. “You were telling me about your past. Where is your mother?”
Fletcher rubbed the back of his neck, reliving the night they awakened him at Eton to tell him his mother had perished. “She passed away. When I was sixteen years of age.”
“Oh, how so very dreadful for you. I cannot imagine. And she was your only close relation?”
With the side of his toe, he kicked a stone off the path. “Yes.”
“And after, your father didn’t have you come live with him?”
“No.” Fletcher offered his elbow and continued down the path. “The duke’s solicitor paid me a visit and relayed the message that as long as I continued to perform well in school, my tuition and board would be taken care of. After whi
ch, I would no longer be entitled to a farthing from the estate. Once I graduated, it was up to me to make a name for myself—and that’s how I wanted it, mind you.”
“And you prospered?”
He laughed. “I managed. I found a position working on developing a steam-powered pump to keep a copper mine from flooding near Stow-on-the-Wold.”
“How long were you there before you were obligated to take up your ducal responsibilities?”
“Four years.”
“Did you enjoy working at the mine?”
“Truth be told, I did.” Fletcher batted a fragrant clump of lilacs overhead. “At university, I was always an outcast. Being illegitimate and one-quarter Romany doesn’t help any young man make friends.”
“No friends?”
“Well, there was another with questionable birth like mine. He became a ship’s captain and now spends his time sailing the high seas—hardly ever sets foot in England.”
“It must be awfully lonely.”
Chuckling, he faced her. “The recluse of all people, worried about my loneliness?”
“Yes, obviously I don’t mind being alone. But whilst I’m busy at it, in the back of my mind, I know my parents are happily living their lives and any time I please I can pay a visit to them or my brother and his family in Twickenham.”
“The future Baron of Derby?”
“Indeed—they all live at Hardwick Hall where I grew up.” Georgiana let her jasmine bloom flutter to the ground. “You see, I have family to visit over the holidays and that means ever so much to me.”
Fletcher didn’t realize he was clenching his fists until his fingernails bit into his palms. “I have no need of holidays.”
She patted his arm, her hand consoling. “I’m sorry. How heartless of me to carry on about my family.”
“Not to worry. I’m glad you have them.”
“Perhaps I ought to speak to Mama about inviting you to Hardwick Hall for Christmas.”
Was she inviting him to her family’s home because she wanted him in her life, or because she pitied him? “I wouldn’t want to impose.”